Metro Friendly

My friend Gat and I were on the Metro to DC for a quick girls museum trip.  Any one that rides the Metro knows that it starts out empty and then quickly fills up.  So, Gat and I decided to make a little bet to see who was more approachable.   We sat near each other, but with open seats to the side of both of us.

Gat sat there with a scowl and with an aura of “Don’t even think of touching me” and I sat there grinning like a loon. At first it seemed like no one was going to sit next to either one of us and then five stops later, it happened. 

A very normal looking young lady sat next to Gat and I about fell out of my seat laughing as Gat pouted.  I then promptly congratulated the the young lady that she helped me win a bet.  If that doesn’t break the ice then, nothing does, because we chatted good heartedly until our stop.   

I am sure I could wrap this up with a bunch of theories that people want to sit next to scowling people, because they don’t want to talk. (This is Gat’s theory, since she lost and had to buy me a cup of tea.) Or that my open seat was hidden by a glass pane and the only seat that was visible was the one next to Gat, and you should never make bets your aren’t 90% sure you will win. 

Waffle House

When some one marries into a family, sometimes it is hard to acclimate and develop a real bond with the person. Other times it grows naturally and then you realize you can drop the “in-law” from the “sister in-law”.  This is my story on how I knew I had a sibling bond with my sister in law. 

A couple of months ago I drove down to visit my brother and his family.  They live a good  eight hours away by vehicle.  The drive itself is scenic and you realize that Virginia highways never end. They just loop back into themselves.  To pass the time on the drive, I started counting Waffle Houses.  There is a sign for a Waffle House every three to four exits like clock work and for whatever reason I wanted to know how many where from my house to their house. 

Unfortunately I lost count, due to a phone call, because while I can talk hand free in the car, pay attention to the road, I can not do a third thing of keep track of exit signs that have Waffle Houses on them.  When I do finally arrive their domicile, it is nearly midnight and I am way to awake to even think about crashing, so of course we stay up and chat.  

Before you know it is is close to one in the morning and I am lamenting about losing track when counting Waffle Houses and talking about my first time at a Waffle House, when it is revealed that there is a Waffle House not too far from them.  In short order we completely sober adults pile into a vehicle and transport ourselves to said Waffle House and order breakfast.  I get a sensible waffle with pecans on it, while Lisa gets a breakfast feast and Mike avoids waffles. Please remember it is one in the morning, and we are all a little punch drunk from laughter.  I have finished my waffle and I am making hungry eyes at Lisa’s waffle.  Before I can even say the words, she picks up the waffle and licks it right down the center. Staking claim that the waffle is hers, that she has her germs on it.   I am still shuddering at the memory. Waffle Licker.   

Instead of giving the waffle a good home in my belly, she had to traumatize it and me at the same time.  Licking an item to stake claim on it is a childish behavior that one does with their siblings.  I can officially remove the “in law” from my relationship description now.  Now I can’t even look at a Waffle House, without thinking about Lisa the Waffle Licker.